Stuck Between Floors
by Angel Monroe
Summary: What if the flasher had gone after Pam instead of Phyllis, and what if he was a little more serious? A 'What if' that takes place during Women's Appreciation. Rated T for adult themes. Very mild swearing.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Yeah, I know, I'm starting another chapter fic while _A Whole New World_ and _Life In Slow Motion_ are still unfinished. And yes, it is another fic where my heroine is put in danger. I'm not sure why that keeps happening, but I was just watching Women's Appreciation a couple weeks ago and Michael's comment about the guy having seen Pam or Karen stuck with me a bit. And I thought, what would happen if it had been Pam? And here's what my twisted imagination came up with. Enjoy._

_Disclaimer: If I owned this show, I'd have barbecued Karen much earlier in Season 3. So obviously, I own nothing. _

**Stuck Between Floors**

by Angel Monroe

Even before the camera crews showed up, she was always the first to arrive in the morning. No, actually, that wasn't true. Sometimes she found Dwight there before her, sometimes sleeping on the couch by the reception desk. Those were weird mornings.

But usually, she came about thirty minutes before everyone else and got the office ready. She turned on all the lights, started the coffeemaker, and occasionally she left little presents (with very different intents) for Jim, Dwight, or anyone else she pleased. It was her private time away from her coworkers, when she could drink her tea and relax without Michael or Dwight or Angela breathing down her neck.

Today the parking lot was empty when she pulled in, and the vacant look of it was familiar and comforting. She parked under the lamp as she always did, grabbed her purse, and glanced briefly at her reflection out of sheer habit. The face never changed. The makeup never changed. The expression in her eyes very rarely changed. It was just another day at the Dunder-Mifflin Paper Company. Why hadn't she left this job already?

And then the reflection did change…just a little. Her eyes crinkled the tiniest bit at the corners, like they wanted to smile even if she didn't. That was the expression they always adopted when she was trying not to laugh at Jim.

Things were still a little weird between them—Angela's Pam-pong count was about half what it always had been before Stamford—but it was getting better. With each conversation, each prank, they were working their way back to best friends. As for everything else, well…

The clock on her dash read a full three minutes since she'd parked, so with a dramatic sigh and a rolling of her eyes that no one but her mirror could see, she opened the door and started the long, arduous (thirty foot) trek to the building, keys in hand.

"Miss!"

She looked up, stunned to see an intruder in her vacant space. A worn, dark blue intruder of a car parked sideways across the parking spots just fifteen feet to her right. The man sitting in the driver's seat seemed to be staring pretty hard at the map in his lap.

"Miss, could you help me out here. I think I got turned around somewhere."

He looked up at her, such hope on his face, and she knew she couldn't really leave the poor guy lost. She walked toward him, thinking that no one would mind if the coffee wasn't quite done. Five minutes didn't matter to the lights or the spring-loaded bobble head she had in her purse for Dwight.

"Alright, so where are you trying to go?" she asked, glancing down at the map.

And there it was. Something she really wasn't expecting strewn across Fulton Avenue and Gardener. Holy mother of…

"Oh, God!" she yelped, turning away. She didn't see that. She didn't see anything. Oh man, she was blind.

It occurred to her to start walking away, to get into the building and call the police. Or Jim. Oh man, she would never get that picture out of her head.

"Where are you going?" said a laughing voice behind her, and she was afraid to look. She just picked up her pace. Thirty feet was never so far.

She didn't expect him to come after her. For some reason she pegged him as a pervert, but a relatively harmless one. Maybe it was that hopeful look he'd given her before. But it was a startling jolt when she heard a footstep behind her. And another. A glance over her shoulder confirmed it, and she began to run.

_Damn these shoes. Damn these shoes._ Of course, this had to happen on the morning when she had tried to dress up a little, worn inch-and-a-half pumps instead of her white keds.

She stumbled into the door when her right heel snapped, but she somehow managed to not drop her key. She slammed it into the lock and turned. It clicked, the door pushed open, and a hand grabbed her jacket collar from behind.

He was stronger than he looked, too. Even as thin as he was, he could have lifted her clear off the ground if she hadn't slipped out of the coat. He took hold of her blouse collar, and for a full moment as she struggled to hang onto the door handles, Pam thought that this was it. This was how she was going to die.

And then her first button popped and the thin fabric of her blouse ripped all the way down her back. He stumbled as a strip came off in his hand, and she took his moment of disorientation to push herself through the door. Turn the lock behind her. Turn around and run.

She spared a moment to take the elevator, both because of her broken shoe and because her mom had always warned her against stairwells. Some random percentage of assaults every year took place in stairwells, so she chanced pressing the up button and was relieved when the doors opened right away.

Still, every second on the elevator, she imagined that he could have broken in already. He would take the stairs and beat her to the office. If those doors opened, there was a chance he'd be standing there waiting for her. God, why did she have to get to the office so early? No one would be around for another…

She checked her watch. Nineteen minutes.

_Oh God._

She hit the stop button and the elevator jerked. A little buzzer-bell began to ring softly but sharply, and she slumped to the ground.

Okay, so she needed to call the police, but her purse (and consequently, her cell phone) had slipped off her shoulder with her coat. He had it, whoever he was. Or it was sitting on the pavement outside the doors she would not open right now for the president himself. Oh man, her driver's license was in there with her name and her address and everything. And her spare apartment key. And her address book. Oh man.

She had to get to the office phone to call the police. Which meant that she had to open the elevator doors. She checked her watch again. Sixteen minutes. That door wasn't opening for another sixteen minutes.

At eight minutes, she heard a thump, thump, thump on the wall in front of her. She scooted away from the sound and closed her eyes tightly. No one showed up this early except maybe the camera crew, and she wasn't opening the doors for them, either. Nope. Nuh-uh.

Another thump. "Pam? Are you in there? What's going on?"

_Jim_.

When the doors chimed open, she launched herself at him, surprising herself almost as much as him.

"Whoa, whoa! What's up Beesly? It's only been sixt…."

He trailed off, probably because she was shaking. And crying. And maybe he noticed her shirt.

Abruptly, she took a step back, pulling the top of her shirt together as much as she could without the thing falling apart. It was too intimate, having him hold her when she was so exposed. She saw the camera crew filming from over his shoulder and ducked her head.

"Hey, whoa, what happened to you?" he asked, taking off his suit jacket and wrapping it around her shoulders. She tasted his cologne every time she gasped. "Are you okay?"

She couldn't speak, not with those cameras on her and her body shaking so violently. Suddenly those men she'd seen five days a week for over two years seemed foreign and hostile. Their cameras, all pointed at her, seemed too demanding.

Jim noticed her aversion and seemed to remember the cameramen, too, turning to speak with them in hushed tones until they lowered their equipment and excused themselves to the break room.

"Okay," Jim said, very cautiously putting his hands on her shoulders. "So—"

"How…" hiccup "…how did you get in? The downstairs door…" hiccup "…was locked."

He didn't seem to care about her question as much as his, but he mumbled something about "second in command" as he led her to her chair behind the receptionist desk. She tried to pick up the phone and he took her hand in his, making her look at him.

"Pam, what happened?"

She looked around, suddenly paranoid in the silence. Where had that man gone? "There was a guy when I got out of my car. He asked for directions but then he had his…his…you know! And it was out on the map and he ran after me. And…" she just sort of deflated, staring at her hands which were in Jim's, and one of her nails had a thin line of dirt under it. But Jim's hands were warm. Her pulse began to even out.

"Did he catch you?" She looked up at him and wasn't sure what the answer was. What the question was. She needed to call the police. "Pam, did he get his hands on you?"

A hot blush crept up her neck, and she knew what he meant. It was startling, to think that she could have been raped. Her world could have been changed, turned upside down. She would be a completely different person. "Uh, no. No, I got the door locked and I hid out in the elevator. I'm okay."

Jim pulled her into a hug so tight she would have felt uncomfortable if it had been anyone else. He kissed her temple like she was his, and she didn't mind.

"Okay, uh, you call the police," he said, stepping away from her, "and I'll call Dwight—"

"Dwight?"

He smiled just a little bit. "If there's anyone in this office that will take this seriously, who do you think it'll be?" She nodded. Of course he was right. "And then I'm going to take you home."

"I can't go home," she interrupted, hating the helplessness that came with the statement. She couldn't go home. She couldn't feel safe in her own apartment. Safety felt so fluid just now. "I lost my purse out there, and there's a spare key. I don't think I can go home."

He nodded, sitting down at his desk. "Okay, well, I'll take you to my place, then. We'll call your landlord about the locks when we get there, and they'll have things set for you by tonight."

That made sense. Even if she was thinking irrationally and didn't want to go anywhere in her address book, Halpert was all the way in the H's. She'd be safe there. He'd look out for her. "Yeah, okay."

---

Not long after the police had asked their questions and Dwight had asked all of his own, Jim opened the door to his apartment and ushered Pam inside. He left her at the door and ran to clean a few things up, making sure Mark didn't have anything obscene out in the open. Up in his room he threw last night's sleepwear in the hamper and straightened his sheets. He grabbed a t-shirt and some sweats out of the closet.

She had wandered into the living room when he came down the stairs, and his too-big jacket was still wrapped around her. One broken shoe sat in her lap. He noticed that her mascara hadn't run.

"Here," he said, handing her the clothes and sitting down beside her. "The bathroom is upstairs on the left if you want to get cleaned up. My room is…well, you remember, if you want to lay down or anything. You know, whatever you want to do."

She looked up at him, smiled just a little bit. "Yeah, uh, thanks. And, um, thanks for finding me…in the elevator. I was just…" she started to tear up and let out a long, deep breath, "…I was scared, you know?"

"Yeah," he breathed, hating the world and feeling so very protective over her. It was strange, like some prehistoric male instinct had surfaced inside of him. He wanted to hunt down whoever the man was, rip him apart like a scene from some gladiator movie. He wanted to watch over her while she slept. "But you got away. You made it, and you're safe now. So it's okay."

She nodded again, looking down at her hands like she was ashamed. She had nothing to be ashamed of. He suddenly wanted to tell her that she was beautiful.

"So," he sighed, "do you want something to eat? Or we could watch a movie? Mark has a killer DVD collection."

She smiled that same grateful but half-hearted smile she'd been giving him since he'd found her, and if there was ever a smile of hers that he could dislike, that would have been it. It was too sad, too weak for the face of such a strong woman. When she stood up, it was on wobbly legs. "No, I think I'm just going to change and then lay down if that's alright. I'm starting to get a headache."

"Alright. Call me if you need anything. I'll be sitting right here." He bounced a little on the couch for emphasis and watched her walked away, wishing he knew how to make it better.

_A/N: Angsty, I know. But it'll get better. Eventually. I'm evil that way. Sorry. I've already got the next chapter finished, but you've got to let me know if you want more, okay? Good, bad, or ugly, I want to know! Thanks. O:-)_


	2. Chapter 2

Twenty minutes later Pam still wasn't sleeping. She lay on her back under the covers with the lights off and the sun filtering in through the blinds of the high window. It was good. She didn't want it to be dark. But still she lay awake, tracing the stripes on Jim's pillow and trying hard to keep her eyes closed.

It was stupid, really. That thing at the office—that thing that she didn't want to think about—it was a once in a lifetime occurrence. She'd gotten through it. It was done. Time to stop wallowing in…whatever she was wallowing in. Self-pity? Anger? Fear? She couldn't still be afraid. It was stupid.

But she could remember exactly how the panic had struck her when she'd looked over her shoulder and seen him so close behind. And she could feel how her shoulders had jerked when he'd grabbed her collar. She could hear her blouse ripping.

The breath got heavy in her chest, liquid and suffocating like a physical weight, and she gasped shallow breaths. There were no words, no calls for help or pleas for relief, just those shallow pulls and pants. Hot tears dripped over her temples and into her hair until the weight ebbed on its own and the air came more easily again.

Two more breakdowns later, a soft knock startled her out of a half-daze and Jim poked his head inside.

"Hey," he whispered when she looked up at him, her eyes tired-heavy and fighting it.

"Hey."

He pushed the door open a little more so he could slip inside and sit at his desk. His voice was still soft when he spoke. "How's your head? Did you sleep at all?"

"Nope," she breathed, and then punctuated the statement with a wide, unladylike yawn. "Can't sleep."

He nodded like he understood, and she thought he probably did. He'd always understood her pretty well. "You want me to make you some tea or anything? I'm pretty sure we have chamomile around here somewhere."

She didn't need chamomile. Or earl gray. Or wildberry zinger, for that matter. She needed to stop thinking about canceling her credit cards and calling the landlord. Or how she would ever walk through her own work parking lot again.

"Pam," Jim prompted hesitantly, "you still with me?"

"No tea," she replied finally, staring at his eyes until they came back into focus. "Thanks, though. I just don't think it would help."

"Okay." He dragged it out like he always did when he didn't know what to say. A moment of silence followed. He stood awkwardly. "I'll just…leave you—"

"Hey, Jim?" He turned back, all ears. Sad eyes. "Could you just…" She looked away, hating her weakness. "Could you just stay here for a while? Just until I fall asleep. I just…"

His smile matched his eyes, but he closed the door and stepped toward her anyway. She scooted away, making room for him, and he took the hint. He stretched out on top of the covers and curled toward her just a tiny bit. Just enough so she could feel his weight behind her.

After a few moments, she reached back and pulled his arm over her waist like a blanket. He made a soft noise like a sigh, and she let her eyes close.

She woke some time later to an empty bed, and the disappointment was almost as heavy as the fear. He must have left her when she'd fallen asleep, just like she'd said, but she still wondered what it would feel like to wake up next to him. She'd been wondering that same thing since Michael's stupid casino, and—if she'd let herself admit it—a pretty long time before that. In the back of her mind she felt like maybe this had been her chance, and now that was gone, too.

In the silence, voices drifted through the closed door from downstairs. Just incoherent mumbling through the wood, but one of them was Jim. One of them really wasn't happy.

"I just don't understand why you can't check her into a motel," she heard as she padded barefoot down the hallway, and Karen's voice was so insultingly biting that she felt the slap of it across her face. "Why does she have to stay here? In your bedroom? Do you see where this gets weird for me?"

"I do see," Jim replied, and his voice wasn't angry. He was using his pacifying voice, the one he used on Michael and Dwight when they were being irrational, and on her when he knew he'd done something wrong. "And I'm really sorry about that. If I were in your place, I would probably think the same thing. But she's really shaken up, and I don't want to leave her alone in some strange motel room for the night."

"But why does it have to be you! Why can't she stay with family or something? She does have other friends, doesn't she?"

Pam bowed her head, feeling like the lowest creature on the face of the earth. What was she doing here? With Jim, who she was crazy about, who had a girlfriend? What kind of person was she?

"She's my best friend," Jim said softly.

"And I'm your girlfriend, Jim. Doesn't that mean something to you?"

There was a pause, and she could imagine all the different expressions he could be making. His determined look. Or maybe his helpless look. Or his epiphany look. Or his giving in look. He could be holding Karen, whispering reassurances in her ear. Pam felt so selfish for hating the mental image.

"Yeah, it does," he answered matter-of-factly, his voice just a whisper across the distance, "but she's my best friend, and right now I'm going to do what I can to help her. That's just who I am."

Pam didn't hear a reply as she walked back to his room, but she did hear the front door slam pretty loudly. It was one of the biggest guilt trips she'd ever heard.

---

Jim stood motionless in the living room for a few minutes after Karen had left, feeling all kinds of jerky. He honestly did feel bad about her jealousy, but he wasn't putting Pam in a hotel. And he wasn't going to pressure her into finding someplace else if she really felt comfortable with him. He hoped she felt comfortable.

She'd fallen asleep quickly after he'd laid down next to her. Maybe that was all she needed, to have someone looking out for her. That was no problem for him; he'd spent the best part of the last few years doing just that. He was an expert at it.

And he'd watch her while she slept, just like he'd thought about earlier. For three beautiful hours, he had just lain beside her and breathed in the scent of her shampoo. It would be on his pillow for days.

Wandering back up the stairs towards his bedroom, he wondered if Karen would forgive him, or if he wanted her to. He cared about her, wanted to see her happy. And they did have a lot of fun when she wasn't being (rightfully) insecure. But it wasn't fireworks. It wasn't grilled cheese sandwiches on rooftops or ridiculous office plots. And she couldn't make him smile just by walking into the room like…

"Pam?"

She was awake and perched on the side of the bed, which he hadn't expected. She was crying, which he really hadn't expected. The sight of it made something inside his chest tighten. Her nose was all red and she was grabbing tissue after tissue from the dispenser on his desk. And yet, he noticed, her mascara still didn't run. Maybe she didn't wear any, but her eyelashes were always so beautifully long that it seemed impossible.

"Hey, what's wrong? Did you have a nightmare?"

She was hiccupping again, which meant that it was pretty bad. And she was doing that thing where she was trying to hide behind her hands, like if he couldn't see her face he might not know she was crying.

"Come on, tell me what happened?"

She took a couple of uneven breaths and let them out in big huffs, pulling herself together. "I'll go to my mom's," she said finally, her voice wounded but resigned. "It's only a couple hours away, and I'm sure she won't mind. I just have to get my car from the office, and maybe find my keys. I think I might have left them in the elevator or…somewhere in the lobby? I don't know. But once I find them, I can go and stay with my mom and then it'll be fine again. It will be…"

"Oh man," he sighed, wiping his hands down his face. She'd heard all of that. All of what Karen had said and what he had said. This was the last thing she needed to think about. "Look, Pam, you don't have to—"

"…fine." Her words kept coming faster and faster, building momentum as her composure started to slip. "Really, Jim, thank you for finding me, and for bringing me back here and taking care of me and everything, but she was right, you know? She's your girlfriend, and she has every right to feel weird about me being here. So if I could just use your phone, I'll call my mom and then we can pick up my car, and I'll be gone. It'll be fine."

Jim crouched down in front of her as she ran out of steam. She was smiling in that way that he knew she was trying hard not to cry, even though the tear tracks were already burned into her cheeks. "Look, if you're really uncomfortable here, please, by all means, go and stay with your mom. She probably knows what to do for you much better than I do. But don't leave on my account. I'd feel better with you here."

"Why?"

And he really had to think about it. If he said what first came to mind, he'd hate himself. It would probably mean making her uncomfortable, which would negate his entire argument, and it would definitely mean he didn't want Karen to forgive him, which he knew would make him a jerk. He really was a jerk. Subconsciously, he wrapped his hands around her calves.

"Well, if you're here, I don't have to worry about you. I mean, two hours is a long drive without a cell phone, and then once you get there…do you even know my number without your phone?"

"Of course I do," she said with more composure. She was finally calming down.

"Look, Pam, all I'm saying is I don't want you to go," he said as calmly as possible while she was sniffling like that. "But I'm not going to stop you if you want to leave. That's not my call." And then as an afterthought, "And hey, either way, you should totally call your mom. I'm sure she'd want to know about this, and I think you'd probably feel much better if you talked to her."

She nodded, not looking at him, and blew her nose into a tissue. When that was all the response he was given, he stood to leave. "The phone is right there. I'm going to make a couple sandwiches. Yours will be out here when you want it." Again she just nodded, looking at the phone instead of at him.

When almost an hour had gone by and she hadn't resurfaced, he started to pace. It was strange, to be so worried about her. It wasn't like when she was with Roy, when he knew that she was miserable and that he could make her so much happier. That had been all kinds of hell, but this… No, this helplessness was something completely different. All kinds of heinous scenarios kept running through his mind, questions he would never ask her. Like how her shirt had ripped if that man hadn't caught her…

He muted the TV show he hadn't really been watching and headed upstairs, hoping maybe this time she wouldn't be crying. He hated watching her try to hide it and feeling so damned weak. Why couldn't he find something helpful to say?

In the dim of the hallway, he noticed light peeking under the bathroom door. He could hear her shuffling around in there, turning the water on and off. He knocked quietly.

"Just a second," she called, and her voice was stronger than it had been all morning.

When she opened the door, there was a half-smile on her lips. It wasn't a full smile, the kind that made the air pause for just a second in his lungs, but it was enough to let him breathe again. "Hey, you look better."

And she really did. Her hair was down, falling in front of her ears even when she tried to tuck it back. Her cheeks had color and her eyes looked more alive than they had in a while. Even before that morning, her eyes had been losing their spark, but he hadn't noticed it quite so much as he did now that they were shining again.

"Yeah," she breathed, bouncing on the balls of her bare feet. "I, uh, I talked to my mom, and you were so right. I really did need that. She was so…she just made me feel so much better about everything. And she's going to drive down and stay with me for a few days until I get used to my apartment again, so I'm really excited about that."

Jim felt his smile falter as his heart broke just a little. "Oh, wow. That's, um…that's really great. I know how happy you always are when your mom visits." Man, what was that? That sinking feeling? He thought he'd gotten over that kind of disappointment a long time ago. "So when is she getting into town?"

"About an hour and twenty minutes," she said, and this time she got close to beaming. The disappointment evaporated. He didn't care if she took a trip to the other side of the world as long as she smiled like that again. "I just wanted to get cleaned up a little. I mean, I know she's my mom and I don't have to hide it from her, but I don't want her to see me like that, you know? She'd just get more worried, and I don't want her to have to do that."

"Sure, yeah, whatever you need. I mean, I don't think I've got any makeup around here, but I could check Mark's room. You never know, right?" She laughed, and he loved it. "But there's a brush under the sink, and uh, I don't know. Clean hand towels are in the hall closet if you want to wash up a bit. You look fine, though, so…yeah. I'll just leave you to…that."

He headed back down the hall, but stopped when he felt her behind him. "Was there something else you needed?"

She nodded, tearing up a little. "Yeah, I just wanted to…um…" She reached up and hugged him hard, fitting her forehead against his neck. "Thank you," she whispered, and he let his arms settle around her back. "I don't know what I would have done…if I could have gotten through this day without you. Thank you."

He couldn't help but smile softly, closing his eyes and memorizing the exact way he was feeling just then. "You're welcome."

---

_A/N: Thanks so much for all of your feedback. I'm glad you all seem to like it so far. I've said this before and I'll say it again: reviews are like pixie stix to my inner child (who is, of course, my muse). No writer can thrive without criticism, so keep it coming. Thanks._


	3. Chapter 3

She ate the sandwich Jim had made her, even though she knew her mom would probably want to take her out. It was only polite, and he was being so great about everything. He really was a great guy.

Her mom had been so comforting on the phone, telling her all the things she needed to hear about how Pam had done exactly the right things and how proud she was that her baby knew how to take care of herself. She'd insisted on driving down immediately, even when Pam said that it wasn't necessary. She had someone looking out for her. Her mother had known exactly who she was talking about.

She still felt guilty about the whole Karen thing, knowing that it really wasn't her place to take what he offered. It wasn't right for her to be in his house at that exact moment eating a ham sandwich that he had made for her. Still felt good, though.

It was one of the reasons she'd given in and accepted her mother's offer to come stay with her. It felt too normal to be there in that house with him, looking through his medicine cabinet and wearing his clothes. And it had felt really damn good to tuck her head into his shoulder and feel his hands on her back. Too damn good to be right.

"I still haven't called the landlord," she observed as he took her plate to the sink. "I guess I really have to do that if I'm going back tonight." She said it offhandedly, conversationally, but the way the last word lilted up involuntarily made it sound like a question.

"Uh, yeah, you should do that," Jim agreed, pulling a phone book out of a lower cabinet and plopping it down on the table in front of them. "With that spare key and everything, you shouldn't stay there until the locks are changed, even with your mom. It just doesn't seem safe."

She nodded, pausing a moment without opening the book. "Yeah, I don't think I could sleep there…not with that guy…oh my gosh, I don't have a garage!"

Jim looked confused and possibly a little scared, and she couldn't really blame him, but it occurred to her that things were so much different now than they had been when she'd woken up that morning.

"When I get back to my apartment, I'm going to have to get out of my car and walk across the parking lot and open the door…and that guy knows where I live!" He was starting to get it because his brow relaxed a little and his mouth turned down at the corners. It was the same sad expression he'd always gotten when she used to talk about Roy. "And at any one of those moments…I don't know what could happen, but it could happen! And how am I going to do that every day for the rest of my life, knowing that if it did happened, I wouldn't be able to do anything."

He got that look again, like he really wished he could say something intelligent but the words weren't coming. The heaviness started again in her chest, and her eyes began to water of their own volition.

"Hey, no," he said quietly. "No more of that. It's going to be fine. You're going to be perfectly fine."

But she didn't feel fine. She felt small and weak and idiotic for having dropped her stupid purse in the parking lot so some psycho pervert could go and dig through all her stuff. And she was leaking again.

"Look, maybe you shouldn't go back tonight," Jim said, sounding a little panicked as he rubbed between her shoulder blades. "Maybe it's too soon."

"No, it's okay," she argued desperately, wishing she could go back to that morning and park closer to the door. Or that she had called in sick, spent the day curled on her couch watching daytime television. "I'll be…okay. My mom is coming, and I know I'm just being paranoid."

"Are you sure? I'm sure we can find a nice, decent hotel where you guys can watch HBO and raid the mini-bar."

She laughed through watery eyes, trying to remember the last time she'd seen her mother drunk. It had probably been about two years ago on one of her trips to Scranton. Roy had spent the weekend fishing with Darryl so they could have their girl time, and they'd mixed margaritas enough to drink a grown man under the table and reminisced. So many secrets had come out that night. It was only after that when her mom had started to ask about Jim.

"No, that's alright," she nodded, letting a deep breath out. "I think I just overreacted a little." Jim relaxed at her side, his hand stopping its circles on her back but not moving away. It felt good there. Normal. He was bound to get her into trouble one of these days.

Something occurred to her and she scowled. "Aw crap, now my face is all messed up again."

Jim laughed and she glared at him, but he just grabbed her a tissue off the counter and smiled. "You look perfect."

It was said so easily, so instinctually that she almost didn't notice, but then his smile stuttered uncertainly, like he really hadn't meant to say anything. He turned his face slightly away from her, maybe to hide a blush, and suddenly she blushed, too, no longer scowling.

---

_Idiot._

_Idiot._

_Total, complete, and utter moron._

He hadn't meant to say it. Hadn't even meant to think it, but sometimes it was impossible not to.

Karen had been so right. Pam shouldn't be there, in his house, in his bed, in his clothes that dwarfed her just enough to be cute. The bottom of her pants were cuffed four times so she wouldn't trip, and even then, she had stumbled over them when she'd come into the kitchen. She had slid only about a foot and a half across the floor, but the little shriek she'd let out was adorable.

No, this was the most dangerous place for him to keep her. Even as safe as she would be, it would probably drive him stark raving mad by the end of the day.

"Thanks," she said when he handed her the tissue, and he didn't know if she was thanking him for the tissue or the compliment.

"You're welcome."

He looked at the microwave clock. Less than an hour before Pam's mom showed up, and he was stuck somewhere between wanting her to leave for the sake of simplicity and wanting her to stay for every other reason there could be.

"So, landlord?" he prompted after a moment.

She sighed and smiled, and she really did look beautiful, rosy nose and all. "Yeah, let's take a look."

OO

They were sitting in the living room with Jim's yearbook when the doorbell rang. He'd been telling Pam stories from high school, hoping to keep her mind occupied. He pointed out his two best friends, with one of whom he still kept in contact. He told her about teachers he had and hadn't liked, making her laugh when he promised he hadn't been the one to almost burn down the science department. He still wasn't sure she believed him.

But when the doorbell rang, she jumped off the couch faster than he thought possible and ran to fling open the door without even checking who it was…which, he mused, probably showed some progress when it came to her skittishness.

He heard a squeal and a lot of laughter, waited about ten seconds, and then ambled towards his front door. Something about interrupting the moment seemed wrong, so he just hung back a little until the girls turned towards him.

"Jim," Pam panted, grinning like sunshine, "you've met my mom. I hope you don't mind that I invited her to sit in on your embarrassing yearbook stories."

"Oh, no. That's fine. That way, word of my former dorkiness will cross not only state, but generational lines. That is completely cool with me."

Mrs. Beesly smiled the same smile as her daughter, and Jim found it strange and comforting at the same time. "Hello, Jim. It's nice to see you again."

"You too, Mrs. Beesly." She gave him a look only a mother could pull off. "Joyce! Joyce. Sorry. Come on in. Would you like something to drink, eat, anything?"

True to her word (and he hadn't actually thought she was serious), Pam sat on the couch with her mother and retold some of Jim's yearbook stories, laughing when she pointed out his picture and then recounted the Christmas he'd given her a copy in a teapot. Jim just watched from the chair, observing the way the two interacted. It was nice. He felt the sudden urge to call his own mom.

"So," Joyce laughed when Pam finally closed the book, "what's on the agenda this afternoon? Did you make all the calls you needed to make—cell phone, credit card, bank, etcetera?"

"Not yet," Pam replied, looking five years older in the span of five seconds. "We called a little while ago to have my locks changed, and the landlord is going to call back when he figures all of that out, but that was just about all I could take this morning."

"Okay, sweetie. Well, I can help you take care of some of that. How about we go and get settled in at the apartment?"

Pam looked stricken for a moment, looking back and forth between her mother and Jim. "I don't…I mean until the locks…" She paused a moment to get herself together. "…do you think we could wait?"

Jim stepped in, wanting so much to save her. "Hey, you guys are free to hang out here as long as you want. Mark won't be home from work until after five, and even then, he'll probably just head to his girlfriend's place."

Joyce nodded, glancing with concern at her daughter. "Okay, well, that sounds fine. Did you want to go out, do anything today?" Pam just looked down at her clothes and then looked up again. Joyce chuckled. "Alright, then, we can hang out here for a while."

Pam smiled gratefully. Jim felt grateful, too.

---

While Jim ran back to the office to find her keys, Pam and her mom sat cross-legged on his couch and talked. It really was what they did best. Joyce Beesly knew things about her that no one else did—not Roy, not Jim, not Jennifer, her roommate from college who had seen her through more drunken confessions than she'd admit to. Nope, her mom was the one who knew all the best dirt on her.

"So you're really okay?" she asked Pam almost before the door closed behind Jim.

Pam took a deep, steadying breath. "Yeah, you know…I'm freaking out about once an hour, but physically I'm fine. The rest…" Her eyes rolled listlessly around the room. "…it's getting better, I think. I mean, it'll come."

Joyce nodded, brushing Pam's hair behind her ear like she always used to. It was comforting, familiar. "And Jim? He's taking good care of you?"

Pam grinned widely for a moment, and then tempered the expression into a small, shy smile, playing with the hem of a shirt that wasn't hers. "Yeah, he's been really great about all this. He's been keeping me together, you know? I just feel bad. I mean, it's a pretty big imposition, even if he doesn't say it."

Her mother looked at her with a small, knowing smile that always made her self-conscious. It was the look her family members gave her when she'd done something either incredibly cute or incredibly stupid. They never told her which it was.

"Oh honey, I'm sure it's no imposition at all," she said with a hint of amusement that pointed to the second option.

"Mom, don't do that," she sighed tiredly. "It's not…I mean it can't…be like that. He has a girlfriend, and, to be honest, she really doesn't like me being here."

"Too damn bad for her, then," Joyce scoffed, and Pam's eyes widened in shock and amusement. "I have nothing against the woman, but you've been friends with Jim a lot longer than she's been in the picture, right? He _was_ in love with you last year, if I remember correctly."

Pam glanced around frantically for some reason, like maybe Jim had the place wired. "Mom, that was a long time ago. Things…" She looked down at her hands, wringing in her lap. "…change."

Joyce didn't press and Pam was thankful.

OO

Her keys, apparently, had been flung into some planter in the lobby. Jim related the story good-naturedly, but she felt horrible for making him search for over half an hour. She felt especially horrible that Michael had made the entire office search for over half an hour. He called it the Pam-a-lot Scavenger Hunt.

Jim wasn't saying it, but he'd had another fight with Karen while he'd been there. She could tell. His movements were a little slower, weighted down. He didn't smile quite as much as the memory of Michael's speech warranted. Besides, Pam knew he was feeling guilty by the way he didn't meet her eyes.

But he wasn't bringing it up, so she certainly wouldn't.

She'd gotten most of her important calls out of the way while he'd been gone. All her credit cards had been cancelled and reset. Her cell phone service had been temporarily suspended until she could get a new phone. Everything else she'd kept in her purse was simply gone.

Around 2:30, her landlord called to tell her the locksmith wouldn't be able to come until the next day. For a second she couldn't reply.

"Tomorrow?" she stuttered out, and everyone else in the room looked at her with concern. "Are you sure it can't get done before then? I mean, there's…there's a guy out there with my house key. I can't sleep there when…"

"I understand that, Pam," Randy replied apologetically. "I really do, but apparently they're short-staffed this week. They said they'll come early tomorrow morning."

"But what am I…?" She stopped, pulling in a tight breath. "Never mind. Thank you, Randy. I appreciate it."

She hung up and just looked down at the phone in her hands a moment. This sucked. Really, truly sucked. All she wanted to do was curl up in her bed with the door locked and all the lights on. Not in the cards tonight.

"So, what do you want to do now?" Joyce asked softly, putting a hand on her shoulder.

Pam looked up and handed Jim his phone. "Um, I'm not sure. I guess…a hotel. We can't stay at the apartment."

"No, definitely not," Jim agreed. "I'll go check the internet."

When he disappeared upstairs, Pam plopped herself on his couch. "How did this get so complicated?"

"What's complicated?" her mom asked.

She rolled her eyes, feeling helpless again. "I don't know. This morning I was standing at the kitchen counter, eating cereal and thinking that maybe I would get some new dishes this weekend. The bowl I was using had this little chip on the rim, and it seemed like maybe it's time to get a new set to replace the ones Roy and I got at our first engagement party. And now I'm sitting in Jim's living room because this morning, while I was deciding to buy new dishes and wear heels instead of tennis shoes, some pervert was deciding to destroy my entire sense of security."

Joyce sat down next to her, placing a steady arm around her shoulder. "This will pass, sweetie. I know it will. It's just one moment in time."

Pam kneaded the heel of her hands into her temples. "I know, Mom, I do. But sometimes…" She trailed off, finding no sufficient way to continue.

She didn't look up when she heard Jim's footfalls on the stairs. Her eyes were too tired. Her mind was too tired. "So?"

"You've got a couple choices," he replied, sounding almost as tired as she felt. She figured it was a pretty hard day for him, too, taking care of her. Fighting with his girlfriend.

He showed her some printouts with addresses and room stats and pricing, and she looked at them blankly, thinking she'd rather be upstairs curled up under his covers again. But Karen's voice rang through her mind, and she tried to focus on hotels.

_A/N: Alright, so what you're really waiting for is going to be in the next chapter, so don't go anywhere. I hope you're still enjoying the story, but you have to let me know. No writer can improve without criticism, so hit me with it. Thanks much. O:-)_


	4. Chapter 4

"You look tired," Jim observed, perching himself on the coffee table in front of her. "How are you holding up?"

She sighed discontentedly, twisting a piece of hair absently in her fingers as she stared between the hotel readouts. "I am tired. I'm tired of thinking, and I'm tired of things getting screwed up, and I'm trying really hard to get out of your hair here, but—"

"Hey, whoa there." He ducked his head to catch her eye, but she refused to look at him, turning away in frustration. "Where's that coming from? I thought we talked about this."

Joyce stood up, excusing herself to the bathroom in a blatant attempt to give them a moment.

"Pam?" He tried again to move into her line of sight, but she deliberately avoided him. "Come on, Pam, talk to me. I told you before that you're welcome here as long as you want, so what's with this frenetic need to get away from me? Did I do something?"

It was only about three in the afternoon, and she looked exhausted. She had that frown between her eyebrows that she always got around closing time after a really long day. He wanted to take her in his arms, carry the weight for her, but he knew she wouldn't let him. Not even in a completely platonic, best friends way.

She shook her head, and it looked like defeat. It hurt him to see it. "How do we do this, Jim?" she asked, and once again he was five steps behind. "How do you sit there and act like your girlfriend doesn't hate me?"

He tried to interrupt, to tell her not to think of such things, but she kept talking.

"And how do I sit here and act like I wouldn't love to stay here tonight, and tomorrow night, and next Thursday night, for that matter?"

_Whoa_.

He couldn't breathe, didn't even blink. He didn't dare. She was staring up at him now, staring so hard into his eyes that he thought maybe this was what dying felt like.

"And you know what? It has very little to do with the man who tried to jump me in the parking lot this morning. The fact that I've spent this entire day scared out of my mind by the idea of going back to the office or my apartment or stepping foot outside this house is, I'm sure, some kind of massive catalyst, but you've been my friend for years."

How was she still talking? The words kept coming with a conviction he knew she possessed but that he'd had never seen. Her eyes weren't evasive or uncertain like every other time they'd come even close to this kind of honesty. And somehow she was still speaking.

"Years, Jim, and ever since you got back, it's been weird and different, and I hate that we're not like we used to be. If we were, maybe I would be able to bury it, but that wouldn't make me being here any less wrong."

He wanted to argue with her, to tell her that she belonged there. She was wearing his too-big sweatpants and the scent of her shampoo was on his pillow…and he didn't want that to _go away_. Karen was…someone he cared about, but when he'd left her fuming at the office, he hadn't felt anything near the aching emptiness he was feeling in his stomach right now at the thought of Pam walking out the door after this confession. If he let her leave now, after all that she'd said, he knew things would never be the same. Not ever. She'd never be _his_ Pam again.

"No," he stammered before he could string words together. "I mean, don't…go. Don't go. I don't want you to go."

She laughed with that same defeat in her eyes, and it made him want to cry. "Okay, Jim, how does that—"

He didn't let her question, didn't let her think. She'd been thinking too much the entire day, and he wouldn't let her overanalyze this anymore. So he kissed her as thoroughly as he knew how, hoping they could just figure everything out later. As long as she didn't leave him again.

And then her hands were in his hair, just like the last time, and it felt just as amazing as it had before. He wasn't sure how he'd gone so long without this, but he was perfectly fine with her staying there that night. And the next. And all the way to next Thursday. If he could touch her like this for the rest of his life, he'd take it without hesitation.

She was crying again, her tears rolling hot over the hand he held against her cheek. He wanted to make her stop, but that would mean breaking the contact and he wasn't ready. Not yet. The world hadn't ended yet; he still had time.

But she pulled back first, dropping her head against his chest, and he watched powerlessly as her shoulders shook.

"Don't go," he pleaded, playing with a curl near her temple. "I know that I shouldn't have done that now, when I still have a girlfriend and your so vulnerable, but I don't care. I couldn't not."

She still had her forehead pressed to his chest, but her shoulders didn't shake quite so much. When she lifted her face to him, she wasn't smiling but her eyes were hopeful.

"Do you have someplace for my mom to sleep?"

The relief was a physical weight lifting off of his chest. "Yeah," he nodded, kissing her forehead gently. "We'll figure it out."

---

After Jim called Mark and asked him to stay with his girlfriend that night, they took his car over to Pam's apartment. The girls insisted on sitting in the back seat together, and he made them laugh by saying he was looking for his chauffeur's cap. Pam promised to make him one later. He smiled at her with that same smile her mother had given her before. She wondered if it was cute or stupid this time.

When Jim pulled into the parking lot, though, Pam gripped the seat beneath her absurdly. The voice of reason in her head kept telling her to stop being such a baby, that she was running from the monster under her bed again. Still, she was relieved when Jim offered to run through her apartment before they got out of the car. Then, when he came back, he led her to her door with a reassuring hand on the small of her back.

The apartment looked exactly the same as when she'd left that morning. It was obvious that no one had broken in. Still, there was an air of danger in it, now. She walked into the living room like she was stepping into the jungle.

"How you feeling?" Jim asked in her ear when Joyce went to start a kettle for tea. His arms wrapped around her waist from behind, and she leaned back against him reflexively.

"Ridiculous," she sighed, a shaky, sarcastic smile on her lips. "I mean, this is my apartment. I've lived here for almost a year. I should not be jumping at shadows."

"Are you kidding," he asked half-seriously, "shadows are _so_ scary. You know I still sleep with a nightlight. Chases away the boogieman."

She giggled a little, feeling like maybe she could do this. Maybe he could keep her safe.

Joyce came to stand in the kitchen doorway, looking bemused. "What are you two laughing about out here?"

"Oh, Jim was just telling me how he's still afraid of the dark."

"I totally am." He said it so seriously that she full-out laughed. "And thank you, Pam, for mocking my very legitimate phobia. Next you're going to tell me that zombies don't exist."

She snorted, and then covered her mouth with her hands and tried so hard to control her laughter. She snorted again.

He was fighting a smile, and her mother had such a tender expression that for a moment she thought she might start to cry. Everything was still so complicated, and she was so sick of complicated. Laughing felt good.

"Okay," she said, letting her laughter lend her courage, "I'm going to go pack a bag."

"Do you want me to come with you?" her mom asked quickly, stepping out of the kitchen just in time for the kettle to whistle behind her.

Pam smiled, feeling taller than she had all day. "No, I'm okay. Like I said, it's just my apartment."

She took a step towards into the hallway, and then another, feeling like she was taking back some small piece of her life, even if she was just packing a bag.

---

Joyce watched Pam walk away, following her movements with the kind of attentiveness that Jim himself tended to show. "She's one of a kind, my girl," she sighed, ducking back into the kitchen to pour the tea.

In the silence, Jim strolled absently around Pam's living room. It wasn't much, just a couch, a coffee table, and a small TV on a stand. But there were little touches of her there. The print above the couch was Monet. The window wall had tiny drips of red and orange paint against the white, as if she'd been painting the parking lot, or maybe the view she wished she had. The couch was secondhand and the pillows didn't match, but the afghan over the back looked hand-made, and he wondered if it had been a gift.

"My daughter tells me that you have a girlfriend," Joyce commented not quite casually from the doorway as he sat down on the couch.

Deep breath. "Yeah, it's…complicated."

Joyce smiled, not quite amused. "Isn't everything these days?" She paused, putting a cup on the table for him and then ambling around the very small living room in a way that made Jim increasingly uncomfortable. "But seriously, Jim, today has been the latest installment of a whole soap opera of things my Pam has had to deal with this year."

"I know," he replied, eyes hooded sadly.

"I don't think she can't take much more complication." It wasn't said unkindly, but he knew her implications. This was the protective mother's version of the 'you hurt her, you die' speech. "Just…take care of her, okay?"

He nodded sincerely. It was enough to elicit a small, understanding smile.

"All of that notwithstanding, I never thanked you for all this," she said more warmly, sitting down next to him, "for taking care of her like this."

"I really didn't—"

"Just listen," she interrupted, and he did listen. She seemed like the kind of woman you really didn't argue with. Especially with the conversation they were having. "Pam is strong, stronger than a lot of people give her credit for, but something like this…after this year…it would have been so much worse for her if she didn't have a friend like you."

He felt like a fraud, sitting there being thanked for doing absolutely nothing. Pam had saved herself that morning; he'd just been the one to give her the all-clear. And as for taking care of her, all he'd really given her was a place to crash for a few hours before her real reinforcements arrived. It was nothing remotely heroic.

"She said on the phone that she feels safe with you." She smiled a small, Pam-like smile that made everything seem a little surreal. "So thank you for that."

Again he nodded, at a complete loss for words. The silence stretched.

"Mom, what did you do to Jim?"

She stood with a large duffel at her side and was, surprisingly, still wearing his clothes. She had her tennis shoes on, though, instead of the pair her mother had lent her earlier.

"What on earth do you mean?" Joyce asked with a hint of teasing as she took a deep sip of her tea. "Jim, have I done anything to you?"

"Absolutely nothing," he replied automatically, though he couldn't put much enthusiasm into it.

"Jim?"

She was worried, and he didn't want her to be, but everything was starting to catch up. He was cheating on his girlfriend with the love of his life, who had been attacked that morning while he'd been pouring himself a bowl of corn flakes. She could have been hurt or killed, and he'd been eating cereal and picking out a new tie when he dripped milk on the first one. And it didn't matter one bit that he was planning to break up with Karen as soon as he saw her next; he was still cheating.

"I'm fine," he assured her, taking the easy white lie. "You ready to go?"

She nodded, still looking at him with that tender, concerned expression that made things ten times worse inside his head. So he just picked up her bag and headed out the door, looking around carefully as he led the girls back to the safety of his car. His tea sat abandoned, untouched, on the coffee table.

OO

Not terribly surprisingly, there was a tall, leggy brunette waiting on his front steps when they got there. She didn't look happy, but she also didn't look angry so that was a step up from that afternoon.

"Go on in," he told the girls, squeezing Pam's hand gently as he slipped her his house keys. "I'll be a few minutes."

She nodded, smiling encouragingly before stepping out of the car and walking uncomfortably past Karen into the house.

"Hey," Karen sighed as he got out and went to the trunk. "So…about earlier…"

"Just a second," he prompted, taking Pam's bag from the trunk and placing it just inside his front door. Pam, he noticed, was not eavesdropping on the other side. That made him smirk a little. "Okay, so about earlier—"

"I know I'm being difficult today," she interrupted, fidgeting uncharacteristically with the ring on her left middle finger. "And yeah, I get that Pam is your best friend and that you have this whole history. Whatever. But you also told me before that you still had feelings for her, and—"

"I do," he said softly, staring down at his shuffling feet. He just didn't have the heart to look at her.

"Okay…" she drawled, a strained smile in her voice. "So exactly how am I supposed to feel about that?"

He had no idea how to spin this positively. He should; he was a salesman, and a damn good one. But breakups were never fun for anyone.

"I'm in love with her," he admitted bluntly. Karen seemed to stop breathing, but he couldn't stop talking. She deserved to know the truth. "I'm really sorry to put it out there like that because I really do care about you, and these past months with you have been great, but I can't…I can't not feel the way I do about Pam. So I have to try to make that work."

When he finally looked up, Karen had that 'why didn't I see this coming?' smirk on her face. "Huh," she chuckled mirthlessly. "Well I guess you've gotta do what you've gotta do, right? I mean, she's Pam. She's got you wrapped around her little finger, right, so of course you have to try. I completely understand."

"I'm sorry."

"Oh, please, Jim. Let's not do that." She shook her head, her smirk dropping into an incredulous grimace as she walked away and climbed into her car. Her emotional control looked piano wire thin. "Just…save it."

It was a horrible feeling, watching her drive away and knowing that she would likely never talk to him again. Work tomorrow was going to be hell. People would be talking about this around the water cooler for weeks, at the very least. Michael would probably throw a party at the idea of he and Pam getting together, which would only piss Karen off more. Oh, yeah, this was going to be awkward on every possible level.

But he knew that at that moment, there was an amazing, beautiful woman waiting for him inside.

He sighed, feeling lighter than he had all day.

_A/N: So…was that worth the wait? Good, bad, ugly, whatever—you have to tell me or I'll never know. I'll just go through life thinking I'm this amazing writer, never knowing that all this time I was totally off. Don't let me be like one of those clueless American Idol contestants. Tell me what you think! _

_Oh, and to alleviate confusion, since keeps taking out my intentionally placed double line breaks, I'm using --- to indicate change of POV and OO to indicate a change of scene. Hopefully the site won't mess with it. Thanks!_


	5. Chapter 5

She'd taken great pains not to listen. Her mother had helped, ushering her into the living room and then, when the indistinct voices still carried, up to Jim's room. Joyce hadn't seen it before, and she wandered around his room as one would walk through a museum. She tinkered delicately with random objects on his desk and asked unimportant questions about how Jim acted at work and during the few times Pam had seen him outside the office. Pam had told her all of these things before, back before he'd transferred when she'd still thought about those things innocently.

"So," Joyce drawled, plucking a couple strings on the neck of Jim's guitar, "we're staying here tonight?"

Pam nodded mechanically, shuffling through her bag to find her hair brush. "Is that alright with you? Jim said that there's plenty of room with his roommate gone. You can stay in Mark's room or on the couch or even in here with me if you like." She looked up suddenly. "I'm sorry, I didn't even ask if you're okay with all this. Are you okay with this?"

Joyce laughed softly, sitting down next to her. "Yes, of course. I was just wondering…if I should wear ear plugs tonight."

Pam's eyes grew wide, her mouth dropping open just a little bit, and Joyce laughed loudly at her speechlessness.

"Oh, come on, sweetie. You didn't come from nowhere."

"Uh, Mom, I'm not going to…" She ducked her head, her shoulders shaking with laughter, and then looked up and pointed to her face. "I'm blushing, aren't I? Bright red, right here?"

"Oh yeah," Joyce replied, pointing to a spot high on her cheek. "Right there, it's a shade somewhere between maraschino cherry and the color of lipstick your grandmother used to wear."

Pam doubled over, burying her face in her hands and her head in Jim's comforter. When she laughed, she could smell him on it.

"Mom," she said calmly as soon as that was possible, "I can guarantee you that I'm not having sex with Jim tonight with you under the same roof. It's not even a discussion."

"I can go to a hotel. Where did you leave those printouts Jim had before?"

"Mom!"

"Am I missing something?"

Jim's voice startled her so much that, in turning toward the door while jumping out of her skin, Pam got tangled in the blankets and almost fell off the bed. She caught herself on his desk, but she was laughing so hard that she couldn't raise her head to look at him.

"Absolutely nothing," she heard her mother say through her own stifled laughter. "We were just discussing…dinner."

Jim looked unconvinced, throwing Pam a 'yeah right' smile, but what he said was, "Alright, what were you guys thinking? I think we should order in."

"Chinese?" Pam squeaked, brushing her hair away from her face.

"Yeah, okay." He threw her a look that said they would talk later and headed back downstairs.

Joyce looked at her, entirely calm and collected. "So what were we talking about?"

Pam shook her head. "Sometimes, I honestly forget how evil you can be."

Her mother just smiled and kissed her forehead.

---

They ate sticky dumplings and cashew chicken out of plastic containers in his living room. Pam insisted that she'd always eaten Chinese food straight out of the cartons because putting it on plates seemed like a lie somehow. At first Jim thought she was joking, but Joyce confirmed that she'd always thought that way.

He loved finding that out about her.

"So," he said casually as he was boxing up the leftovers, "are you planning on going back to work tomorrow?"

Pam looked a little stunned, like she'd expected the question but wasn't quite ready for it. "Um, yeah, I thought I probably should. I mean, I brought some of my work clothes with me, so…yeah. I have to do it sometime, right?"

He couldn't help but grin. He was so proud of her. "Right."

"And you're going to be there," she prompted with just a touch of anxiety in her voice.

"Of course I am. I'm driving you."

She smiled, and then she laughed. "My car is still in the parking lot."

"Yes it is."

"Then yes, I guess you're driving me."

"Jim," Joyce said, clearing her throat delicately, "I was wondering, are you sure it's alright if I sleep in your roommate's room tonight?"

"Oh yeah, sure. Mark said it was fine."

"Are you sure?" she asked again, and it seemed like she was trying to tell him something. "I could always get a hotel…if it would be more convenient."

He saw Pam shoot her a pointed look, and he wondered what exactly they'd been talking about upstairs.

"Uh…no, um, don't waste your money. It's really no problem."

Pam put her head in her hands, and he thought he could see her hiding a smile. Joyce just nodded pleasantly. He really wondered what he was missing.

He'd been thinking about the whole sleeping arrangement situation for most of the afternoon, and he was pretty sure if he kept thinking about it, he would get himself into trouble because even though he'd had a hundred dreams about Pam sleeping in his bed, absolutely none of them included her mom being in the next room.

But he wasn't going to make her go to a hotel. That just seemed wrong…and also, incredibly presumptuous. Besides, none of those dreams had included Pam having been assaulted that morning, either.

"Okay," Joyce said finally, handing him her fork as she stood, "I've had a pretty long day, so I'm going to head off to bed, but I'll probably see you in the morning before you guys leave."

"Okay Mom, sleep well," Pam sighed, standing to give her mother a hug. Joyce kissed her on the forehead and waved a goodnight to Jim before heading up the stairs.

"So," Jim drawled as he stashed the leftovers in the fridge, "should I ask what all that was about?"

"Nope," Pam smiled as she began to rinse the dishes in the sink.

He decided it was probably safer to just leave it be, especially when she was standing in front of his kitchen sink, loading the dishwasher like she belonged there. She did belong there.

"What?" she asked when she caught his stare. "You've got that look again."

He walked to her and wrapped his arms around her from behind. "What look?"

She leaned back against him, resting her head on his shoulder. "The 'aw, how cute!' one my mother gives me when I'm doing something dorky."

He laughed, resting his chin on the top of her head. "Yep. That's exactly it. You're just too dorky for words." He rocked her just a bit, kissing her hair. "You know what, why don't I take care of that? You don't have to do my dishes."

"I'm almost done." She rinsed off the last plate and set it in the dishwasher, then arranged the silverware with care into the strainer. "See, done. Besides," she turned in his arms, "what are girlfriends for?"

He smiled at that, looking down at her with a little grin on his lips. He couldn't get rid of it. "You're beautiful, you know that?"

She smiled that sunshine smile and stretched up on her toes to kiss him. He had the feeling it would soon become one of his favorite pastimes.

---

"It's getting late," he told her, and he sounded positively dreadful about saying it. She couldn't help but be amused. Roy had said those words many times before, but he'd always been making insinuations. Jim was just concerned. "You've had a long day."

"Yeah," she said, nodding but making no effort to move.

He seemed charmed by this. "Are you planning to sleep, then?"

She pretended to think about it a moment. "Hm…that would be the logical thing, wouldn't it?"

When neither of them moved for another thirty seconds, Jim huffed and stepped away from her. "Alright, come on. Let's get you to bed."

She kept her position, leaning idly against the kitchen counter, and rolled her eyes. It _had_ been a long day, and she'd had more emotional headaches than she wanted to admit, but she didn't want to sleep. The day was surreal enough; what if she woke up in the morning and everything changed back? She'd take the casual flirtation while she could. "You know, if I had a nickel for every—"

Suddenly she was being lifted in the air, her body bending at the waist over his shoulder, and she let out a surprised screech. "Jim! What the hell do you think you're doing?"

He held her in place by the calves and lopped up the stairs with surprising grace. From her unexpected vantage point she felt how the muscles in his back moved under the skin and how strong his arm was against her legs, like he could probably hold his own in a fight if he had to. But she also liked that he could usually talk his way out of them.

"Jim," she said more calmly as they walked down the hall, "I can walk." It really was awkward giggling upside down. "Are you going to let me walk?"

"Absolutely not."

She laughed, watching her hair swish back and forth over her head. She folded her arms and closed her eyes, forgetting that the blood was rushing to her face and the too-big sweatpants were slipping so her purple cotton underwear was probably sticking out from under the waistband. Jim was holding her, and it felt good to be held, even if it was upside down like a sack of potatoes.

He put her down in the bathroom so she could brush her teeth and get washed up. She took a little extra time, taking a second look through his medicine cabinets just for the heck of it. His aftershave smelled musky and his toothbrush was bright orange. His toothpaste was the gel kind.

When she opened the door, he scooped her up over his shoulder again, walked the three feet into his room, and tossed her inelegantly on the bed.

"Your room, Miss," he stated with as much decorum as he could muster.

She sat up slowly, her laughter making the bed tremble. "Wow. That shuttle service is really something. Is this where I tip you?"

He held his hand out expectantly, and she put her own inside of it, using him to pull her onto her knees.

"Alright, Halpert. You get ready for bed and meet me back here in five. I don't think I can stay awake much longer than that."

He looked at her a moment, analyzing the statement, and she felt the intensity of the stare. It asked all the questions she wanted to answer, made all the implications she would have loved to substantiate…

…at any other time. When she wasn't so tired and her mother wasn't in a room separated from theirs by one very thin wall. Maybe if there wasn't another, less gentle face that kept popping into her head when she closed her eyes.

No, not now. But maybe soon.

"Come on, Jim," she said softly, more seriously than she meant to. "I don't really want to sleep alone tonight. I'm not still…scared…I just don't…"

Suddenly she felt stupid. Jim or no, he was a guy, and she knew he probably had all kinds of ideas about how their first night together would go. And being in that bed with her, without being able to touch her in all the ways she could tell that he wanted to…it was so selfish of her to ask that of him.

His hand on her face startled her, and she looked up just in time for him to place the most gentle, loving kiss on her forehead. And then another on her lips, baby's breath soft. His thumb stroked the apple of her cheek. "I'll be back in a couple minutes. Don't fall asleep."

She nodded and watched him carefully as he grabbed some sweats and headed across the hall. Now that she thought about it, she didn't know how much sleep she'd get tonight, either, with him lying beside her.

---

Pam was still in the exact same spot when he came back, strewn out on top of the covers in what looked like a very uncomfortable position, absently picking lint off his pillow. Her attention was focused on the guitar resting underneath the window.

He didn't really play in front of people. His mom liked to hear him, and sometimes when his brother brought the kids to visit, he'd play for them. Karen had asked him once, and he'd very abruptly remembered that he was starving. She had known not to ask again.

Otherwise, he just picked it up now and then when he was in a particularly good or bad mood. It was his catharsis, his own private therapy.

"Hey," he whispered from the doorway, digging his hands deep into his pockets, "you ready?"

She looked over slowly, a small smile on her lips. "So do you actually play, or do you just keep that thing around for decoration?"

He shrugged, sitting down next to her. "I play…kind of. It's not terribly impressive."

"Can I hear?"

She gazed up at him, her eyes soft and sleepy, and he could picture an entire lifetime with her—being married outdoors under a vine-covered arch, painting the kitchen in their new house, watching her rock a baby to sleep, holding her while she laughed, while she cried, while she screamed and beat against his chest in frustration…he could see it all. And he could see himself sitting in front of her with that guitar in his hands, asking her to love him for the rest of their lives.

"Yeah," he replied softly, twisting a lock of her hair around his finger. "Yeah, I'll play for you sometime."

Her smile widened just a little, like maybe she knew how much of a concession it was. Maybe she was just picturing his off-key singing. He didn't know or care, as long as it made her happy.

She fell asleep quickly after getting under the covers, and the weight of her head was strangely familiar against his shoulder. He stayed awake as long as he could, listening to the nighttime sounds and feeling so at peace, before yielding to his own pleasantly dreamless sleep.

_A/N: Alright, I think that's it. Thanks so much for all your reviews. I had a great time writing this, and I hope you guys enjoyed reading it. Much love. O:-)_


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